The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Tom Sawyer's Comrade)

by Mark Twain

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  So I started for town in the wagon, and when I was half-way I see awagon coming, and sure enough it was Tom Sawyer, and I stopped andwaited till he come along. I says "Hold on!" and it stopped alongside,and his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so; and he swallowedtwo or three times like a person that's got a dry throat, and thensays:

  "I hain't ever done you no harm. You know that. So, then, what youwant to come back and ha'nt _me_ for?"

  I says:

  "I hain't come back--I hain't been _gone_."

  When he heard my voice it righted him up some, but he warn't quitesatisfied yet. He says:

  "Don't you play nothing on me, because I wouldn't on you. Honestinjun, you ain't a ghost?"

  "Honest injun, I ain't," I says.

  "Well--I--I--well, that ought to settle it, of course; but I can'tsomehow seem to understand it no way. Looky here, warn't you evermurdered _at all?_"

  "No. I warn't ever murdered at all--I played it on them. You come inhere and feel of me if you don't believe me."

  So he done it; and it satisfied him; and he was that glad to see meagain he didn't know what to do. And he wanted to know all about itright off, because it was a grand adventure, and mysterious, and so ithit him where he lived. But I said, leave it alone till by and by; andtold his driver to wait, and we drove off a little piece, and I toldhim the kind of a fix I was in, and what did he reckon we better do?He said, let him alone a minute, and don't disturb him. So he thoughtand thought, and pretty soon he says:

  "It's all right; I've got it. Take my trunk in your wagon, and let onit's your'n; and you turn back and fool along slow, so as to get tothe house about the time you ought to; and I'll go towards town apiece, and take a fresh start, and get there a quarter or a half anhour after you; and you needn't let on to know me at first."

  I says:

  "All right; but wait a minute. There's one more thing--a thing that_nobody_ don't know but me. And that is, there's a nigger here thatI'm a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his name is _Jim_--old MissWatson's Jim."

  He says:

  "What! Why, Jim is--"

  He stopped and went to studying. I says:

  "_I_ know what you'll say. You'll say it's dirty, low-down business;but what if it is? _I_'m low down; and I'm a-going to steal him, and Iwant you keep mum and not let on. Will you?"

  His eye lit up, and he says:

  "I'll _help_ you steal him!"

  Well, I let go all holts then, like I was shot. It was the mostastonishing speech I ever heard--and I'm bound to say Tom Sawyer fellconsiderable in my estimation. Only I couldn't believe it. Tom Sawyera _nigger-stealer!_

  "Oh, shucks!" I says; "you're joking."

  "I ain't joking, either."

  "Well, then," I says, "joking or no joking, if you hear anything saidabout a runaway nigger, don't forget to remember that _you_ don't knownothing about him, and I don't know nothing about him."

  Then he took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off hisway and I drove mine. But of course I forgot all about driving slow onaccounts of being glad and full of thinking; so I got home a heap tooquick for that length of a trip. The old gentleman was at the door,and he says:

  "Why, this is wonderful! Whoever would 'a' thought it was in that mareto do it? I wish we'd 'a' timed her. And she hain't sweated ahair--not a hair. It's wonderful. Why, I wouldn't take a hundreddollars for that horse now--I wouldn't, honest; and yet I'd 'a' soldher for fifteen before, and thought 'twas all she was worth."

  That's all he said. He was the innocentest, best old soul I ever see.But it warn't surprising; because he warn't only just a farmer, he wasa preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back ofthe plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for achurch and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching,and it was worth it, too. There was plenty other farmer-preachers likethat, and done the same way, down South.

  In about half an hour Tom's wagon drove up to the front stile, andAunt Sally she see it through the window, because it was only aboutfifty yards, and says:

  "Why, there's somebody come! I wonder who 'tis? Why, I do believe it'sa stranger. Jimmy" (that's one of the children), "run and tell Lize toput on another plate for dinner."

  Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, astranger don't come _every_ year, and so he lays over theyaller-fever, for interest, when he does come. Tom was over the stileand starting for the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for thevillage, and we was all bunched in the front door. Tom had his storeclothes on, and an audience--and that was always nuts for Tom Sawyer.In them circumstances it warn't no trouble to him to throw in anamount of style that was suitable. He warn't a boy to meeky along upthat yard like a sheep; no, he come ca'm and important, like the ram.When he got a-front of us he lifts his hat ever so gracious anddainty, like it was the lid of a box that had butterflies asleep in itand he didn't want to disturb them, and says:

  "Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?"

  "No, my boy," says the old gentleman, "I'm sorry to say 't your driverhas deceived you; Nichols's place is down a matter of three mile more.Come in, come in."

  Tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, "Too late--he'sout of sight."

  "Yes, he's gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner withus; and then we'll hitch up and take you down to Nichols's."

  "Oh, I _can't_ make you so much trouble; I couldn't think of it. I'llwalk--I don't mind the distance."

  "But we won't _let_ you walk--it wouldn't be Southern hospitality todo it. Come right in."

  "Oh, _do_,"' says Aunt Sally; "it ain't a bit of trouble to us, not abit in the world. You must stay. It's a long, dusty three mile, and wecan't let you walk. And, besides, I've already told 'em to put onanother plate when I see you coming; so you mustn't disappoint us.Come right in and make yourself at home."

  So Tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself bepersuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a strangerfrom Hicksville, Ohio, and his name was William Thompson--and he madeanother bow.

  Well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about Hicksville andeverybody in it he could invent, and I getting a little nervious, andwondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last,still talking along, he reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right onthe mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, andwas going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the backof her hand, and says:

  "You owdacious puppy!"

  He looked kind of hurt, and says:

  "I'm surprised at you, m'am."

  "You're s'rp--Why, what do you reckon _I_ am? I've a good notion totake and--Say, what do you mean by kissing me?"

  He looked kind of humble, and says:

  "I didn't mean nothing, m'am. I didn't mean no harm. I--I--thoughtyou'd like it."

  "Why, you born fool!" She took up the spinning-stick, and it lookedlike it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it."What made you think I'd like it?"

  "Well, I don't know. Only, they--they--told me you would."

  "_They_ told you I would. Whoever told you's _another_ lunatic. Inever heard the beat of it. Who's _they?_"

  "Why, everybody. They all said so, m'am."

  It was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and herfingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says:

  "Who's 'everybody'? Out with their names, or ther'll be an idiotshort."

  He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says:

  "I'm sorry, and I warn't expecting it. They told me to. They all toldme to. They all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it. They all saidit--every one of them. But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it nomore--I won't, honest."

  "You won't, won't you? Well, I sh'd _reckon_ you won't!"

  "No'm, I'm honest about it; I won't ever do it again--till you askme."

  "Till I _ask_ you! We
ll, I never see the beat of it in my born days! Ilay you'll be the Methusalem-numskull of creation before ever _I_ askyou--or the likes of you."

  "Well," he says, "it does surprise me so. I can't make it out,somehow. They said you would, and I thought you would. But--" Hestopped and looked around slow, like he wished he could run across afriendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, andsays, "Didn't _you_ think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?"

  "Why, no; I--I--well, no, I b'lieve I didn't."

  Then he looks on around the same way to me, and says:

  "Tom, didn't _you_ think Aunt Sally 'd open out her arms and say, 'SidSawyer--'"

  "My land!" she says, breaking in and jumping for him, "you impudentyoung rascal, to fool a body so--" and was going to hug him, but hefended her off, and says:

  "No, not till you've asked me first."

  So she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissedhim over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, andhe took what was left. And after they got a little quiet again shesays:

  "Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We warn't looking for_you_ at all, but only Tom. Sis never wrote to me about anybody comingbut him."

  "It's because it warn't _intended_ for any of us to come but Tom," hesays; "but I begged and begged, and at the last minute she let mecome, too; so, coming down the river, me and Tom thought it would be afirst-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and forme to by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger.But it was a mistake, Aunt Sally. This ain't no healthy place for astranger to come."

  "No--not impudent whelps, Sid. You ought to had your jaws boxed; Ihain't been so put out since I don't know when. But I don't care, Idon't mind the terms--I'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes tohave you here. Well, to think of that performance! I don't deny it, Iwas most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack."

  We had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and thekitchen; and there was things enough on that table for sevenfamilies--and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that'slaid in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunkof old cold cannibal in the morning. Uncle Silas he asked a prettylong blessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it abit, neither, the way I've seen them kind of interruptions do lots oftimes.

  There was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and meand Tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, theydidn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we wasafraid to try to work up to it. But at supper, at night, one of thelittle boys says:

  "Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show?"

  "No," says the old man, "I reckon there ain't going to be any; and youcouldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told Burton andme all about that scandalous show, and Burton said he would tell thepeople; so I reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of townbefore this time."

  So there it was!--but _I_ couldn't help it. Tom and me was to sleep inthe same room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good night and went upto bed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down thelightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for I didn't believe anybodywas going to give the king and the duke a hint, and so if I didn'thurry up and give them one they'd get into trouble sure.

  On the road Tom he told me all about how it was reckoned I wasmurdered, and how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back nomore, and what a stir there was when Jim run away; and I told Tom allabout our "Royal Nonesuch" rapscallions, and as much of the raftvoyage as I had time to; and as we struck into the town and up throughthe middle of it--it was as much as half after eight then--here comesa raging rush of people with torches, and an awful whooping andyelling, and banging tin pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to oneside to let them go by; and as they went by I see they had the kingand the duke astraddle of a rail--that is, I knowed it _was_ the kingand the duke, though they was all over tar and feathers, and didn'tlook like nothing in the world that was human--just looked like acouple of monstrous big soldier-plumes. Well, it made me sick to seeit; and I was sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like Icouldn't ever feel any hardness against them any more in the world. Itwas a dreadful thing to see. Human beings _can_ be awful cruel to oneanother.

  We see we was too late--couldn't do no good. We asked some stragglersabout it, and they said everybody went to the show looking veryinnocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in themiddle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal,and the house rose up and went for them.

  So we poked along back home, and I warn't feeling so brash as I wasbefore, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow--thoughI hadn't done nothing. But that's always the way; it don't make nodifference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain'tgot no sense, and just goes for him _anyway._ If I had a yaller dogthat didn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would pisonhim. It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides,and yet ain't no good, nohow. Tom Sawyer he says the same.